Love tinnitus
by imaginarypaths
Summary: "What happens in there stays in there," Hermione sighs casting a look of longing at Tom Riddle's flickering frame and cold smile as he seems to agree. Tomione (sort of).


Three knocks. Pause. Another knock.

She immediately recognized the pattern she had been waiting for; dashing and imperious. He always knocked like that, as if he knew she was already in that room waiting for him and wanted to make her know he was finally there. Despite knowing it was impossible and that he would pay her as much attention as he would a dead goldfish, she'd unconsciously straighten her back every time and raise her chin just that little to make it seem like she had not been profaning the room in his absence, to prove her worth to him, the _one_ , who was unable to see it. She was not dead, neither was she made of smoke. She was not. Sure, she knew she was not as attractive as other girls, but she was also aware that she should have been pretty enough to tempt him if only she had found a way to make him notice her, truly see her like she saw him.

"Tom, welcome!" Horace Slughorn warmly greeted him.

Hermione vaguely heard the Professor's voice but didn't turn her head to face its owner; instead, she kept her eyes on Tom, her heart singing, content to merely see him, knowing that the smile he wore, that achingly beautiful smile, was for anyone in the room but her. Had he not smiled at all, her sufferance would be more tolerable… maybe.

She sighed.

Everyone ignored her and her distress.

"Professor, though we already met today, I insist on shaking hands with you again."

"Always so classy, Tom," Slughorn said, surprised and pleased.

 _Of course he would be_ , Hermione wanted to scream, but never would she allowed herself to interrupt a teacher, even under these odd circumstances.

She kept quiet and stayed there hoping Tom would play footsie with her (not that he would know he was playing footsie; she wanted to preserve his classiness after all). Last time, she had missed it, but this time, she'd make sure that his foot would meet hers.

She silently sat down and prepared for another Slug Club meeting as around her, fascinating conversations went on, Tom being the main responsible for it, but she already knew he was brilliant and charming and well-spoken (it was what it had made her surprisingly fall for that boy and overlook his being a psychotic murderer in the future). Right now, none of that was important or what she wanted to hear. She had to wait for another while for that. But she had time.

* * *

When the door finally close behind the last member of the Slug Club, beside Tom and herself of course, relief washed upon her as she foretasted her favorite moment of all; finally they could talk. Finally, his words would have to be for her, whether he wanted it or not.

Deep down, she knew he considered his conversation with Slughorn way more important and interesting—she was well aware that the Professor was not any naive, young, bookworm Witch after all, and she understood it, she really did. But now that his friends were not here to judge him anymore, she knew, she trusted him to tolerate her. Sure, _tolerate_ was not the word for he actually could be very flattering and make her feel like a woman, which she loved. It had taken her some time to get there but they could now talk like old friends, even lover if she dared, the words coming smoothly from the mouths of both.

Her heart was furiously thumping, hurting her rib cage, and she vaguely wondered if he could hear it too, or if all the blood she could feel forming big waves in her veins would give her away as a _Mudblood_ , ruining her chances. She didn't think he knew already, but now her blood was bullying its way in her body, and she was painfully aware of it.

 _Why now? I can't have his young self already think I'm dirty. His older self was more than enough.  
_

She found herself fighting the urge to raise her hand to study it, compare it to Tom's hand. Even though, truth to be told, the idea of their hand so close, close enough to touch other was enough to make her beam.

What would she see, if she raised her hand? Blueish veins. And his hand? Blueish veins, again.

 _Then why, Tom? Why, my love?_

But it was soon, too soon; he wouldn't understand and would hate her. If only she had the chance to get him to know her before it was too late. If only she could show him the love he so desperately needed, she was sure she could change him, she could redeem him. And he would save her broken heart.

.

"Prove it!" he had said.

She was doing just that, coming back over and over again, neglecting her life, job, friends, family… He was worth it, and he didn't even know.

But then he had seemed to accept it, accept that he had her heart.

"I like having things that belong to other people," he had said. "It makes me feel… _close_ to them."

At the time, Hermione could only hope to be close to him, but pride and something else she couldn't name yet had blossomed in her chest at the thought that he wanted to be _close_ to her.

.

She discreetly shifted so that she was now facing him, staring in those deep, dark eyes of his. Not a hint of red could be detected.

She could feel his gaze on her, but he still didn't make a move. He seemed troubled and it hurt her to know she couldn't do anything to make it better, to kiss it away.

When he finally spoke, her heart skipped a beat. "I couldn't think of anyone else to go to."

In her happiness, she almost missed his next words. Fortunately, she didn't for they were as flattering and delicious as the previous ones.

"—they're not like you," he was saying.

 _No girl could compare to you_ , her mind provided, completing his line.

This was the closest one to a confession she had managed to get from him so far, but tonight she needed more.

"I love you," she said. "No one will ever love you as much as I do. Now please, tell me you love me, too. I don't need it right now, but… is there any hope?" she prompted him, knowing he had never heard those words in his life and it was unlikely he knew how to use them. What she heard next shocked her.

"I came across the term," he slowly said. "—and I didn't fully understand it."

Hermione frowned and decided it was time to leave. She already knew what his next words would be, but she wasn't strong enough to face him any longer.

As the memory faded, she still could him saying, "I thought if anyone could tell me…"

 _It would be you._

* * *

"Hermione! What were you doing in my Pensieve?"

"Nothing, Harry. Really. I have to go now, sorry."

 _If anyone could tell him… it would be Slughorn. Not me. Never me._

* * *

 **The heart was made to be broken.**

 **~ Oscar Wilde ~**

* * *

 **A/N Tom's lines are all from Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince by J. K. Rowling. In case it wasn't clear, Hermione often uses Harry's Pensieve to be able to see her love, Tom Riddle Jr., and likes to pretend to speak with him and twists his answers to Slughorn so that they seem to be directed at her. This is set after the war, and I thought that maybe you could use a Pensieve even for memory of memories.  
**

 **A _tinnitus_ ****is an awareness of sound in the ears or head which is not from an external source. I thought to play with its meaning and the fact that Tom's feelings for Hermione (and in a way, his words too) are just in her head.  
**

 **Written for the Anti-Valentines Competition on The Golden Snitch forum: The couple in your story can't have a happy ending together!**

 **Prompts:**

 **\- Tom Riddle Jr./Hermione Granger**

 **\- "Tell me you love me."**

 **\- "No one will ever love you as much as I do."**

 **\- "The heart was made to be broken." Oscar Wilde**

 **\- pride**

 **\- murderer**

 **\- psychotic**

 **\- mudblood**

 **\- blood**

 **\- hate**


End file.
